


Conquest

by henghost



Category: ITZY (Band)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henghost/pseuds/henghost
Summary: Ryujin has been fantasizing about being a Mongol warrior. Yuna has been getting on her nerves.
Relationships: Shin Ryujin/Shin Yuna
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Conquest

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: A little gross, a little thirsty

I had been fantasizing about being a Mongol in the horde of Genghis Khan. A horse archer. Rippling muscles from the hundred-thirty-pound draw of my bow. Drunk on fermented mare’s milk, blood for a chaser. I didn’t know why.

Maybe I was a direct descendant of the Khan himself. I read somewhere one in two hundred Asians are, due to his propensity for rape. Anything was possible. Somewhere in my DNA was a latent urge to conquer. I could feel it: like needles pricking against my skin.

It made me testy. I found myself snapping more easily. Mostly at Yuna. I think it was because she was the weakest. Then the only thing that could calm me down was this audiobook I’d bought of _The Secret History of the Mongols,_ the oldest living record of their conquest. I would put my earbuds in and stare up at the ceiling and have these visions of red and black death. It was very soothing.

#

The thing with Yuna started like this: we were in the dressing room before a TV performance. I was thinking how another benefit of Mongol-hood would be not having to change clothes so often. In fact they never changed clothes, never washed them. It went against their religious beliefs. It would offend the god of water. So they simply wore whatever they had on until it rotted off. That would be nice, I thought, as I put on something latex.

But Yuna was in one of her moods. It was easy to forget how young she was. She really was a child. Slight and scrawny and naive. Couldn’t drink, couldn’t drive. Sometimes she hid it well, sometimes she didn’t. That evening she was bubbling like a toddler given chocolate. A blur of limbs. The stylists had a hell of a time keeping up with her. At one point she hugged me from behind and put her head on my shoulder and I just about snapped her neck. 

Then we danced. I remember she was wearing this cropped pink thing whose neckline was bordering on tasteless. This fact became relevant when, in our ending pose, the camera focused in on her and she bent forward and squeezed her arms close to her chest. Gave our audience quite the show.

Who did she think she was? Attempting to titillate like some slut? At her age?

Afterward I said, “Yuna, can I speak with you alone?”

“Sure, Ryujin, anything for you….”

I took her to this abandoned part of the building and shoved her against a stack of boxes. I’ve never been a violent person before. Yuna has a few centimeters on me but I’m broader and stronger and older. I think I intimidated her. 

I put my face close to hers and said, “What the hell was that?”

Her mouth was this cute little O.

“What were you trying to accomplish?” I said incredulously. “Do you know who you are?”

She looked at her shoes. “I’m sorry, Ryujin.” And maybe I imagined it, but I saw her lip tremble. 

“You’d better be,” I said. I put my hands on either side of her face. “You embarrassed me out there.” Then I kissed her forehead, and she looked up at me with her enormous dark eyes, and I said, “I love you, Yuna.”

“I love you, too,” she said, but something in her voice just made me angrier. 

#

That night I tried to explain my Mongol fantasies to Yeji. I pared some of the language down so that I wouldn’t sound like I’d gone completely off the deep-end, but I’m not sure how successful I was.

“Let me get this straight,” she said from the bunk above me. “You’re saying you like to imagine killing and pillaging and raping?”

“It’s not about that,” I said. “I just like the romance. Sleeping in tents. The conquest. The total triumph over my enemies.”

“It sounds a little sadistic.”

“Maybe I’m a little sadistic.”

“I’m worried about you, Ryujin.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

Sometimes I hated her. Yeji acted like she was better than me because she was “older.” Because she was the “leader.” I couldn’t stand it. But that’s the way the world works. All there is is one person over the other. Without that nothing can function. Genghis Khan built the greatest empire the world has ever seen. How? Not by being empathetic — I can tell you that.

I got out of bed to use the bathroom, but the door was locked, and when I listened closely I heard someone crying who could only be Yuna. I thought: serves her right.

#

Here are ten examples of hierarchy in our modern world:

  1. Rich over poor 
  2. Landlord over tenant
  3. Teacher over student
  4. Politician over constituents
  5. Man over animal
  6. Man over woman
  7. Majority over minority
  8. Old over young
  9. Strong over weak
  10. Idol over fan



It’s not how it should be, but it’s how it is. And wouldn’t you rather be over than under?

#

The fantasies got longer and more detailed over the next week. Every spare moment my eyes would glaze over and I’d be back on the Mongolian steppe. Hot and stinking. Restless.

Genghis Khan commanded with extreme discipline. If you deserted, not only would you be executed, but the other soldiers in your regiment would be as well. But he had an eye for talent, too. _The Secret History of the Mongols_ tells the story of Jebe, which in the Mongolian tongue means “arrow.” While in a battle to unite the steppe tribes, Jebe, then known as Zurgadai, shot the Khan’s horse out from under him. After the battle, Zurgadai came before the Khan, who did not execute this formidable opponent as a lesser leader might, but instead elevated him to the level of general, and gave him a new name.

The Mongols were a poor people before Genghis Khan (whose name at birth was Temugin), and historians have theorized that the Asian continent was conquered for the sole purpose of pillaging. The more loot they got, the more they wanted, and the rest is history. The Khan got first dibs, then his generals, then the lieutenants, and so on. 

Some reports indicate women were allowed into the Khan’s armies.

One night I had this really disturbing dream. It started outside the walls of some great Chinese city-state, and Genghis Khan, who in my imagining looked like a male version of Yeji, was giving a sort of motivational speech before we stormed the walls. I don’t remember it all, but the last lines stuck with me: “This is the most beautiful city I have ever seen,” he said. “And everything beautiful must be conquered.”

Us soldiers on our steaming steeds let go a raucous cheer, and then the bloodshed began. I remember shooting an arrow into the neck of a defenseless citizen. I remember feeling this unstoppable hate for him. Because he was a victim, and that was enough.

As the sun set our victory became certain. The cheers of Mongol soldiers ricocheted through the city’s dense alleyways. Exhausted, content, I rested in a stranger’s home. Its previous residents must have been killed. I sipped from my cask of mare’s milk. I felt no guilt. Why would I? Then as my eyelids began to flutter, a knock on the door stirred me awake. Due to my position in the army’s hierarchy, my subordinates were required to bring me the most desirable spoils of war, and that’s just what they’d done.

This gang of lecherous men had brought me not jewels or gold but a girl. And this was the disturbing part: the girl looked exactly like Yuna. The men said, “We thought you might like this one,” and they shoved her into my arms, and she made this pathetic whimpering noise, and then we were alone. 

She was wearing this long-sleeved red silk dress. She was near tears. She was beautiful.

I undid the bindings around her wrist, and I put the back of my hand against her cheek, and I put my thumb on her lips. I said to her, “I won’t hurt you. But you will become my wife. And tonight is our wedding night.”

Thankfully this was when I woke up. What scared me was that my underwear was wet.

#

That morning I bought a bottle of yohimbe capsules from the drugstore on the corner. Yohimbe comes from a root native to certain parts of Africa, and is used in folk medicine as an aphrodisiac. I didn’t have a specific purpose for it yet. I just felt like I needed it. 

In the afternoon we had another music-show appearance. When the stylists showed Yuna her outfit, she asked for something “a little more modest.” And she gave me this look like a dog who’s managed to return the ball. 

When we were dancing, I at one point managed to lean over the edge of the stage and spit on one of the members of the front row. This teenage guy. I couldn’t say exactly why. I played it off like an accident, but he looked ecstatic.

When we got back to the dorm I took a shower and I felt like a god. My whole body pulsed with this electric power. I spit on that guy, and he was grateful. As well he should be. I remembered the Yuna from my dream, and instead of fear I felt strength. _Everything beautiful must be conquered_.

#

That night it was only Yuna and I in the dorm. The others had talked about spending the night with their families or something — I wasn’t paying much attention. Yuna was very excited. She told me in this voice that was higher and girlier than normal how much she was looking forward to having a night with “just me.” I had such contempt for her. Her hair was this dark chestnut color. She was wearing neon-pink lipstick.

We ordered takeout and afterward she wanted to watch a movie, and I relented. She put on this period drama, and further back in time I went. We were on the sofa, and she leaned into me, put her head on my shoulder, and I could feel how frail and weak she was against me. I really believed it: she would let me do anything.

It all clicked into place.

I said, “Do you want something to drink, Yuna? Tea or something?”

She said, “Mm, tea sounds nice. You’d really make tea for me?”

“Sure I would.”

I stood up and boiled water in the kitchen, then poured two mugs. One bag of decaffeinated Earl Grey in each. Then I found the bottle of yohimbe, took a handful of capsules, split them open one by one, and emptied the brown powder into one of the mugs, which I gave to Yuna.

She took a sip and said, “I’m still really sorry about that thing the other day, Ryujin. I was just being stupid, you know. I like the attention. I’m such an attention whore.”

I scowled and said, “It’s fine. How’s the tea?”

“It’s so good. You’re so good at everything, Ryujin.”

“I know.”

An hour or so later was when the effects became visible. She pushed herself further into me. There was a gleam of sweat across her face. I could feel her heart beating through her clothes. She said, “You look really good today Ryujin.” She put her head in my lap and looked up at me. “And your perfume smells really good as well.”

“I’m not wearing perfume,” I said.

“I guess it’s just you then,” she said, and she giggled. She turned and kissed my stomach. 

“What are you doing?” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I feel a little strange. Good, though. You ever feel like that? You smell really good.”

She wanted me. Perhaps she always had, and had only needed a chemical lubricant to show it. There’s another kind of hierarchy: those perceived as deviant are below those perceived as pure. But if Yuna wanted me that didn’t make her deviant — it only made her like everyone else. She looked up at me and swallowed, and I looked down at her and thought: slut. Here she was, fawning and pathetic beneath me. Just like she wanted. Just as it should be. 

I said, “Everything beautiful must be conquered.”

She said, “What?”

“I said you’re beautiful, Yuna.”

“Can I kiss you, Ryujin?”

I bent down and kissed her roughly on the mouth, because I had to kiss her. I couldn’t live with myself if she kissed me. Her lips were very warm and very soft, and she opened her mouth like she wanted me to put my tongue in it. I thought: whore.

This is what I wanted to do: I wanted to quit kissing her and throw her to the ground like a doll. I wanted to take her clothes off without asking. I wanted to hold her arms down and pin her legs with my own. I wanted to bite her flesh. I wanted to spit on her. I wanted to give her what I knew she always wanted. I wanted to conquer her.

She stopped kissing me. I wiped her strawberry-smelling lipstick off my mouth. She said, “Sorry. That was weird.”

I said, “It’s fine. I’m also sorry. I haven’t been myself lately. I’m exhausted.”

I turned the movie off and went to my room and took off all my clothes — more wet underwear — and left them in a pile by my bed. I crawled under the covers. I started to cry. I said to myself: you’re a coward, Ryujin. You’re pathetic. I kept crying until I fell asleep. I didn’t dream at all. 


End file.
